The Good Guardians
by ALeighS
Summary: Regulus, Sirius, and Remus work tirelessly to gain custody of Harry while Dumbledore tries to prevent their efforts from the shadows. Harry's unintentional entry into the Triwizard Tournament may be just the proof they need that Dumbledore doesn't have Harry's best interests at heart. But their efforts are complicated by something bigger - Regulus's Dark Mark grows clearer every da


**Chapter 1: The News**

The sun had barely risen in the eastern sky when an owl swooped into Grimmauld Place, carrying a letter with the purple seal of the Wizengamot. Two serious wizards and one cantankerous house-elf watched gravely as the letter fluttered to the table. The owl hooted, somehow conveying a sense of import and pomp, before swooping out the small kitchen window soundlessly.

The younger of the two men, already in his day robes, plucked the letter for the table. His house elf offered a letter opener. The other man, older and dressed in a lumpy sweater, watched his face curiously.

The neatly dressed wizard shook his head and handed the letter, not to his wizard companion, but to his trusted house elf.

"Barty Crouch is dead," he said. "They're calling an emergency session."

"I'll wake Sirius," the sweater-clad wizard said. He stood and drank the last of his tea deeply.

"Remus," the first called after him. "Please implore my brother to wear _black_."

Half an hour later, the two Black heirs left the house together, clashing spectacularly in Wizengamot purple and Gryffindor red.

Sirius Black was bored.

It turned out that being a member of the Wizengamot involved a lot less injustice-smashing and standing ovations than Sirius had envisioned. Rather than speech making, the sessions involved a lot of note taking and research. Sirius's half-formed daydreams of splashy headlines and handsome pictures in the Daily Prophet had rapidly evaporated, replaced with awkward handshakes and stilted conversations with other members, all who seemed to grasp the subtleties of the issues at hand in a way Sirius's brain just couldn't manage to.

Sirius wasn't a fully-fledged member of the Wizengamot. Despite being the younger of the two, Regulus was the official representative for the house of Black and Sirius was there as his guest. This meant Sirius was often sent from the room, a Muffliato charm cast behind his back to prevent proper eavesdropping. There was a very good reason for Sirius's unofficial status; up until a few months before, the ministry had believed that Sirius was an escaped mass-murderer, put away in Azkaban for murdering twelve muggles and one wizard. Technically, Sirius _had _been an escapee, the first ever, a feat that Sirius was campaigning heavily to be included on his Chocolate Frog card.

The very polite letter he had received from the makers of Chocolate Frogs had said, as tactfully as possible, that if Sirius ever did anything else worth noting, they would be sure to include the Azkaban tidbit on his card as well. It seemed one had to be _nominated _for such a distinction and that merely making headlines wasn't sufficient.

Sirius kicked up his feet onto the chair back in front of him. Lucius Malfoy turned to glare at him, using his cane to nudge Sirius's feet off. Sirius loudly let his feet drop. Lucius sniffed and brushed dirt off the back of his chair. Several rows below the Black brothers, Albus Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder and smiled indulgently at Sirius. He viciously imagined kicking Lucius again, sending the snooty wizard crashing down the rows, hopefully taking out the headmaster in the shuffle.

"Please pay attention," Regulus hissed at Sirius out of the side of his mouth, nodding at Lucius cordially even as he dug his elbow into Sirius's side.

"I'm bored," Sirius whispered back. "Crouch was a bastard and now he's gone. Good riddance."

Crouch had been responsible for Sirius going to Azkaban without a trial- well, Crouch and Dumbledore, Sirius's one time hero. Sirius tried not to think about that time too much; the rage and hysteria that had overcome him as he was thrown into a cell, dementors pressing close to feed on his memories, leaving him only with the thought of James' betrayal by another friend, Peter Pettigrew. His one small hope had been that Dumbledore would be, must be, coming to explain, that Dumbledore, who always gave second chances, would give Sirius another- but Dumbledore had never come.

No, he had been too busy dropping James' son, Harry, Sirius godchild, into the home of horrible muggles who had neglected and abused him for the past thirteen years.

"Sirius," Regulus hissed. "Your well-publicized reason to dislike Crouch is exactly why you need to control yourself."

Lucius Malfoy tsked.

"Regulus," the silver-haired man said, not bothering to lower his voice. "I would never suggest that you were anything less than dedicated to the Wizengamot. However, as a friend, I must let you know that others are starting to wonder if tutoring your brother-" here he nodded towards Sirius- "is causing you to be somewhat...distracted?"

Regulus smiled at Lucius and nodded, pressing his thin lips together. Sirius thought his expression looked rather painful.

"Yes, Master," Sirius mocked in Regulus's ear, his voice a perfect imitation of Regulus's beloved house elf, Kreacher.

Regulus dug an elbow into Sirius's side again, punctuating this movement with a stomp on the foot.

"That was incredibly boring," Sirius announced as they finally stood an hour later. Hidden beneath his Gryffindor robes, he could feel his joints trembling. As much as Sirius liked to pretend otherwise, he was still healing from twelve years in Azkaban. Sitting still for long periods of time reminded him of being in his jail cell, and he didn't even have the relief of turning into Padfoot during the Wizengamot sessions.

"Only boring people get bored," Regulus told him.

"Okay, _Father_," Sirius said.

Regulus glanced at Sirius out of the corner of his eyes, his heavy eyelids narrowed in exasperation.

"Amelia Bones is trying to get your attention," Sirius pointed out. Sure enough, the current head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was weaving her way through the crowd of purple, calling out Regulus's name in short, sharp bursts. Regulus waved to acknowledge her voice, and she nodded back, now mounting the steps to the rows of seating where the brothers still stood. She had been a few years above Sirius at Hogwarts and a head girl. Her no-nonsense demeanor still put Sirius on edge. Her dark red head bobbed toward them as she wove through the chairs, several curls bursting from their pins. The sight was so familiar that Sirius half-expected her to take house points.

"Regulus," she said, finally reaching them. "Sirius."

Up close, it was clear that she had matured, blonde and silver streaking through her curls, laugh and frown lines starting to show at the edges of her eyes and near her hairline.

"Amelia," the brothers said.

"So what do you think of our options?" Amelia said. "The Weasley boy had only been Crouch's assistant for a month, _he _certainly can't be the department head."

"No," Regulus said. "Percy has a great head for numbers and research, but he doesn't have the authority needed to manage the people of the department."

"Ah, yes, you would be familiar with him from class," Amelia acknowledged.

Regulus was the potions professor at Hogwarts, a career that Sirius found nearly as boring as the Wizengamot sessions.

"It's just a horrible time for it," Amelia pointed out. "Not to be disrespectful to the dead, but Barty couldn't have passed at a worse time. Bagman and he have been working on a major project for months, with impacts across three international communities- this is a nightmare."

"What is it?" Sirius asked. Regulus elbowed him.

"Oh, top secret I'm afraid, Sirius," Amelia said. "I noticed you were struggling to sit still."

"My brother is still building up his mental stamina," Regulus said.

"Oh, no offense taken," Amelia said, her wide lips turning up just slightly at Sirius's indignant grunt. "I was having trouble listening to Fawcett drone on as well."

"Any idea what caused his death yet?" Regulus asked.

"Well," Amelia said. "It'll be out in the papers tomorrow, so I guess I can say. There are no marks, no signs of injury or illness. No forced entry into the house. His house elf can reveal nothing. It could only be Avada- which means we have a murder investigation on our hands."

Sirius perked up at this.

"Murder, huh? There must be a lot of people Crouch has hacked off over the years."

"Sirius," Regulus said, shooting him another of those sideways glances. "Forgive my brother, please. He's relearning the art of conversation."

"No, he's right," Amelia said, gazing shrewdly at Sirius. "Some think it was you."

"I just got out of Azkaban," Sirius said. "I'm hardly about to go committing murder as soon as I'm declared free."

"That's what I told Cornelius," Amelia said. "But it doesn't look good, Sirius, you can understand that."

"Maybe I'm being framed. Again," Sirius said. Sirius knew it was unlikely anyone could really pin Crouch's death on him, but he felt a creeping coldness across his skin nonetheless, and had to repress a shiver.

"If there's one thing I've learned from working with Moody, it's to never rule out the possibility of someone pulling the strings. Doesn't believe in coincidences, that one," Amelia said thoughtfully. "You're still trying to get custody of Harry?"

"Of course," Sirius said. "In fact-"

"But Harry's guardians aren't in any position to be murdering Crouch and pinning it on Sirius," Regulus pointed out.

"His _guardians _may not be," Sirius started to say, his voice a little growly. He could see Dumbledore near the chamber door, chatting with Fawcett. Regulus huffed and placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder. Sirius's joints twinge painfully under Regulus's squeezing fingers.

"Could it be someone attempting to sabotage the, er, top secret project?" Regulus said. "Or the World Cup?"

"That seems more likely," Amelia frowned. "That's part of the problem with bringing on a replacement- so much is hinging on Barty's department right now."

"Sure would be easier to select a replacement if we knew what their duties were going to be," Sirius said, smiling in what he hoped was a winning way. Amelia snorted inelegantly.

"Nice attempt," she said. "That famous Black charm didn't work on me in school, and it won't know. You'll all know soon enough."

"Sirius, let's get you home," Regulus said. "I'll review the files, Amelia, and let you know my thoughts on replacements. We should try to make sure it's someone who's willing to address some of the bigger issues. This department has been weighed down in minutia for far too long."

"Agreed," Amelia said. "I'm off to review a report on cauldron thickness from Weasley now, actually. Why Cornelius thinks _I _need to be handling it, I just don't know."

"Because you're good," Regulus pointed out. "Thorough, meticulous, fair."

"Thank you, Regulus," she said. "I think the same of you."

"I meticulously tracked every day that I was falsely imprisoned," Sirius said. "4,288 marks before I was finally able to be liberated."

Amelia snapped her head up to meet his eyes, her cheeks turning ruddy. Regulus sighed, placing one slender hand on his forehead as though Sirius brought him physical pain.

"What?" Sirius asked. "It's the truth." But he realized that he had pushed the conversation into a place that was uncomfortable for them all. He thought suddenly of Harry's green eyes, reproachful and weary behind his glasses. Sirius shifted and forced a chuckle.

"I am sorry, Sirius," Amelia said. "It was a grave miscarriage of justice. No one expects you to just forget it."

"Now, now," Sirius said, trying to sound jolly. "It's not your fault, Bones. Karma for all those pranks I pulled at Hogwarts, eh? Never could prove it was me who made the front doors sing that rude little ditty, could you?"

Amelia smiled at this and Sirius grinned back. His jaw hurt.

"How did it go? _Amelia, I feel ya, just need to be boned-"_

"_Well_, we need to get back," Regulus said suddenly.

"Of course," Amelia said. Her blush had faded, replaced by raised eyebrows and an exasperated smile.

"Yep," Sirius agreed. Regulus sighed and tugged Sirius away, nodding to Amelia as they went.

"What?" Sirius asked him as the gilded doors on the Ministry lift slid shut. "Just trying to lighten the mood. Thought you were going to ask her for help with my custody claim?"

Regulus tucked his hair behind his ears and didn't answer.

Remus was waiting at Florean Fortescue's for Sirius, eyes half closed as he enjoyed the sun warming his skin, breathing in the sweet, creamy scents of the ice cream and listening to the giggles and cajoling of children in the area. The breeze was warm and sweet and Remus was _almost _relaxed.

At least, he was attempting to be.

In actuality, Sirius was late and Remus was getting antsy. The man had been returned to him so recently (and 'returned' implied a level of intimacy that wasn't quite _present_) and he was prone to fits of emotion. Remus couldn't help the scenarios running through his mind, though he reminded himself that Sirius was with Regulus and therefore couldn't- surely- have gotten into too much of a mess.

But Remus had a lifetime's practice at hiding his emotions and so he sat, breathing in the cloying air, face calm, waiting.

"Moony!"

Remus let his eyes open slowly, even as he clenched his legs against the urge to jump from his seat.

"Padfoot," Remus acknowledged, standing with a slowness that was not entirely feigned, muscles still sore from the full moon. "Want some ice cream?"

The answer was a resounding "yes!" and Remus smiled indulgently, accompanying Sirius to the queue as he listened his friend bemoan the general boredom that had accompanied his latest Wizengamot visit. Remus didn't miss the way the public was taking notice of Sirius, whispered remarks behind upraised hands, children pointing outright.

"That's him, that's him!" A young voice chimed, as Florean handed over two large banana splits, topped with chocolate and carmel. Sirius tensed slightly, his still thin shoulder blades sharp inside his red robes, but when he turned, a winning smile was fixed upon his face.

"Hello!" Sirius beamed. "Out for some ice cream?"

The child must have been about seven or eight. She stared at Sirius with comically wide eyes, her sleek black bangs barely concealing her raised eyebrows.

"He talked to me!" She gasped to the woman at her side. The woman smiled apologetically at Sirius, her eyes seeming to bounce right past Remus as though he was mere background.

Remus was used to this; in fact, he cultivated it. His cozy sweaters and gentle smiles and small presence were comfortable and natural, the person Remus thought he might have been effortlessly if he hadn't had darkness lurking in his heart and trauma sucking at his soul.

Sirius roared in laughter to something the girl had said, signing a piece of parchment with a flourish and winking extravagantly at her. The girl turned pink with pleasure. Her delighted squeal seemed to be the permission other curious patrons had needed- they flocked to Sirius now, in groups of two or three, asking him the same questions they'd been hearing all summer, shaking his hand, shaking their heads, murmuring about his false imprisonment.

Through it all, Sirius beamed and Remus smiled, a silent presence at his side, watching for the moment when the joy faded and the man's eyes turned distant and haunted.

Their ice cream was half melted by the time they were able to sit down again.

"So," Remus said, stirring his treat into a blended soup. "Barty Crouch. Are you worried?"

"No," Sirius scoffed. He took an overlarge bite and then winced, placing one skeletal hand against his temple. "No one in their right mind would think I would risk going back to Azkaban."

"No one in their right mind would have sent you there in the first place," Remus said, and Sirius frowned. Remus watched him closely, and caught the moment Sirius let the fear creep back in, the way his eyelids drooped and his gaze became distant.

"I swear on Merlin's grave, if _that man _thinks he can keep me from Harry with some asinine plot to frame me-" Sirius began, defaulting, as always, to anger.

Remus sighed and let him rant, a deep magnetic push urging him to reach out and grab one of Sirius's wildly gesturing hands, to place a gentle kiss on the lines across his wasted temple, to wrap his arms around the taller man and crush Sirius's head against his own chest. The feeling was so overwhelming that he lost of thread of Sirius's words, too preoccupied with the hundreds of unsaids still between them.

Later, when Sirius was out of anger, he would drink too much, and press himself close to Remus and try to kiss him, and Remus would have to duck his head and hug the man he so desperately wanted and be the bigger person.

"It's bullshit, Moony," Sirius said, his voice starting to raise. It was the volume and Remus's instinctual need to protect Sirius (from himself, from others) that jolted him back to the present.

"I know it is, Padfoot," Remus said. "I know. But we're working on it, and unless you want the press to get wind of your feelings, you have to quiet down."

"I know," Sirius grumbled, crossing his arms, magenta veins mapping tunnels across the surface of his olive skin. "It's just not fair. And I'm stressed, Moony, I'm so stressed, it feels like there are all these forces at work that I can't control, that I can't even _see, _and that's what got me in this mess in the first place. My blindness, that's how I screwed this all up, screwed _us _up-"

Remus felt a jolt in his chest and focused his gaze directly upon Sirius, quiet, open, letting him broach it, forcing himself to not let on how desperately the words of romance behind his lips were waiting to spill out.

"Moony, I know I keep- and you keep- and I just want to know-"

"Oh, hello!" a very posh, feminine voice said. "I saw you both sitting over here and just had to come introduce myself."

The two men leaned apart, the moment broken.

"I'm Kitaka Zabini," the woman said, extending one slender hand towards them, the gesture fluid and almost lazy.

She was beautiful, that was undeniable, and Remus felt a vicious jealousy as he looked at her, this elegant woman who had no qualms about approaching strangers and interrupting what was clearly a private conversation. She had dark, creamy skin, liberally adorned with beaded jewelry. Remus thought of his own skin, blotchy and scarred. In contrast to Remus's shabby muggle clothes and hastily thrown on robe, Kitaka was wearing robes of silky, printed material in gorgeous jewel tones that glittered in the evening sun. Her long, thick black hair reached past her waist, twisted into many braids adorned with the occasional bead or jewel.

"Er-" Sirius said.

Remus took a violent bite of his soupy ice cream, letting his spoon drop with a clatter into the metal bowl. He snatched up his water cup, draining it. Then he breathed, and stood.

"Miss Zabini," he said, reaching out to take her still proffered hand, feeling the warmed metal of many rings as he shook. "You must be Blaise's mother?"

"Of course," she said. "Remus Lupin, the animagus, I presume?"

Remus nodded. It was a lie invented by Regulus for which Remus had lost his job as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor- but it was better than being in Azkaban for exposing students to a werewolf on the full moon, wolfsbane potion or no.

"Blaise spoke highly of you," Kitaka said in a languid, unconcerned voice. "And _you _must be Sirius Black."

Sirius had stood by then and shook her hand.

"The one and only," Sirius said. "Zabini? I'm not familiar with that surname."

"The name of my third husband," Kitaka said, with a tinkling laugh. "One of the sacred pureblood families in Italy."

"Oh," Sirius said. His pureblood upbringing seemed to be failing him. "So you're divorced?"

Remus winced and wished desperately that Regulus was there. There was no graceful way to communicate to Sirius that Kitaka was, in fact, recently widowed to her sixth husband.

"Widowed, unfortunately," she said. Her smile was gracious and warm. "That is actually why I simply had to approach you."

Remus bristled and even the sight of Sirius's horrified expression did little to ease his mind.

"Oh!" She let out that tinkling laugh again. "You misunderstand me! I simply mean to say, that I have amassed quite a fortune in widow's estates. I know the Blacks are fabulously wealthy in their own right, of course, and I mean _no _disrespect, but the simple fact is that I am the most wealthy witch in Britain.

"And you, Sirius Black, are in a bit of a bind, are you not? You are the rightful heir, but your brother controls all- and you don't really have the temperament for all that, do you? So _boring _to be dragged down by all the politicking! And I? Well, I have so many galleons I just don't know what to do with them.

"I know you would never accept charity- as it should be!- but should you find that you need an investor, that you have some idea for making this world catch up to your brilliant mind- well, you be sure to send me an owl. You understand?"

Sirius nodded and belatedly stuttered out a "thank you, Ms. Zabini, that is truly generous-!" Remus, smile frozen in place, murmured, "so generous... unbelievable" and smiled blandly at Kitaka when she shot him a calculating glance, her unhurried air betrayed by the sharpness in her nearly-black eyes.

"Oh, the press," Kitaka said, placing one slender hand on Sirius's forearm, gesturing fluidly towards Diagon Alley's cobbled streets, where there was in fact a photographer, grinning and raising his camera.

"Oh, they love me, follow me everywhere," she added with an eye roll, placing her other hand on Remus's shoulder and smiling prettily. "Not to worry, it's just the paparazzi, you won't see this in the Daily Prophet. No, front page of The Witch Weekly, with an asinine headline to match."

She said all this through her teeth, smiling sweetly through it all. The photographer, visible only by a curly mop of black hair peeking over the camera, waved to her, and she waved back.

"Well, it was very nice to meet you gentlemen," Kitaka said, brushing her soft, full lips against Sirius and Remus's cheeks in turn. "Sirius, please send me an owl. I've done my research, you know, and I would be delighted to back you in _any _endeavour. And Professor Lupin, Blaise really did enjoy your class last year, and I do hope you're able to work something out with Dumbledore."

Remus opened is mouth to reply that he was, in fact, going to be tutoring at Hogwarts, but Kitaka was already laughing and spinning on the spot, her magnificent printed robes brushing his arms as she apparated away.

"Wow!" Sirius said, all pretenses dropped. "The most wealthy witch in Britain, huh? And that photographer!" He laughed, those deep, barking bursts that Remus so loved. "And she just- offered me money? For no reason at all! I could...I could buy out Zonko's! No, I'm not thinking big enough…"

Remus just stood there, smiling and nodding, trying to ignore the roaring in his ears. Remus, for whom living with nothing was the default, was not impressed by the wealth or the glitter, and found that he couldn't accept that a single moment of the encounter was spontaneous. Kitaka had the smile of a killer, a beautiful preening bird who could peck out the eyes of an unsuspecting admirer at any moment. The way she had just injected herself into a clearly private moment! The false modesty and easy comfort with the photographe- why, Remus wouldn't have been surprised if she'd planned it all!

"Sirius," Remus finally said, breaking off the other man's monologue about owning a quidditch team. "I want to go home."

Sirius looked at him, and his half eaten, completely melted sunday, the sudden silence almost comical.

"Oh," he said. "Sure. Let's go then. Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Okay," Sirius said, grabbing his arm. "On the count of three?"

"Sure."

They counted down and turned on the spot, landing in Grimmauld Place smoothly.

"Moony, you sure you're good?" Sirius asked as they separated.

"Yes," Remus said. "I'm going to just check in on Harry. Can you put the tea on?"

"Sure," Sirius said, a bemused look on his face. "Have it ready in ten."

Long shadows flickered in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, the curtains pulled tight against the rapidly approaching night. Regulus was settled in his arm chair, Kreacher perched on the Ottoman near his side. They had passed the last quarter hour by discussing the events of the day's Wizengamot session, the two of them now lapsed into silence as they weighed the many potential implications of Barty Crouch's passing.

"Kreacher is thinking Winky must be devastated," Kreacher said, a light shudder running across his bony shoulders. Regulus hummed in agreement, the glum expression on Kreacher's face mirrored on his own. Winky's family had been serving the Crouch's for generations. It would be long after Winky's lifetime before a bond that deep would be forged again- and that assumed she could find a new master to bond with.

Sometimes, Regulus pictured his magic wrapped with Kreacher's, a helix of connection stretching back generations and generations. The thought of it being severed was physically painful.

"Barty had no living heirs," Regulus acknowledged. Barty Crouch Jr. had died in Azkaban, accused of being a Death Eater, and Barty's wife had died shortly thereafter. "Come to think of it, he never provided Winky with a mate, either."

Kreacher looked at Regulus then, his watery blue eyes sharp and reproachful.

"I know," Regulus said. "I'm young still. And there's Harry."

"Kreacher is old," the elf pointed out. "Master Orion was a young man when Kreacher was born."

Regulus hummed again and was spared from replying by the knocking at the window of a large tawny owl. He rose gracefully to unhook the window, unsurprised when the owl dropped a letter in his lap and swooped past him, several more envelopes clutched in his dangerously clawed feet.

The thick, creamy parchment could only come from Hogwarts, and Regulus eyed the door through which the owl had exited speculatively. Dumbledore knew that Harry was with them through the end of the summer, of course. Regulus supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that the owl had been sent with letters for them all.

"What does it say, Master?"

Regulus retrieved a silver letter opener from an old fashioned roll top tucked in the corner of the room for just such an occasion. The letter was a single sheet and said nothing Regulus didn't already know. It would be news to Remus though, which would mean Sirius would know in a matter of minutes…

"WHAT?"

Sure enough, Regulus thought grimly. He passed the letter to Kreacher wordlessly and the elf smirked as the two of them turned, listening to the pounding feet and excitable whoops as Sirius made his way from where ever he'd been sulking upstairs.

"REG!"

Regulus's brother burst into the room, waving an identical letter and wearing a truly terrifying expression, eyes glittering, mouth stretched in an exhilarated smile, dark hair artfully windswept and brushing his collar. Remus followed moments later, a hint of a gasp in his breath as he hurried in.

"Padfoot!" Remus said.

"Did you know about this?" Sirius asked, waving the letter under Regulus's nose.

"Know about what?"

This last was uttered by Harry, who had slipped into the room with a speed natural to any seeker and a silence nurtured by his frequent rule-breaking.

"The Tri-" Sirius started to say, but he was cut off by a silencing spells from Remus and a summoning from Regulus, who caught the letter deftly as it fluttered through the air. Kreacher grinned and swept from the room, patting Sirius on the elbow as he passed.

"We can't tell you, Harry, I'm sorry," Remus said.

Harry crossed his arms, a slow scowl crawling across his face. Sirius thrust one arm around the boy, pulling him so that his shoulders rested against Sirius's chest, and fixed them with an equally displeased glare. They stood there, a timeless picture, and it was easy to squint and believe fourteen year old Sirius and James were in the room.

Kreacher swept back in and offered them all tea, but Sirius refused to remove his hands from Harry's shoulder, and the boy followed his lead.

"It says right here in the letter," Remus said, apologetic. "Students are not to be told."

Regulus looked at Harry, letting all their interactions and knowledge of each other swirl in his mind, unformed and unorganized. The exercise was centering, and several things became clear to him at once. Behind Harry's petulant glare and upturned lips, the boy was confused, hurt and suspicious, so many things he had once held to be true so recently called into question. It took everything in Regulus not to hand the letter to him, a desperate move that would do little to convince the boy that Regulus had his best interests in mind, that he was not just another pawn being moved around the board by wizards older and more corrupt than himself.

"Yes," Regulus said instead. "It does say that students must not be _told._"

There was a pause. A slow grin spread across Sirius's face, and he unfurled his arms from Harry's shoulders.

"Ah, yes," Sirius said. "Told."

"Harry," Remus said suddenly. "Is your bag ready for the World Cup? Perhaps you could run up and make sure all your _cloaks _are packed?"

Now they were all grinning, stupidly pleased with their adolescent-level scheming. Harry's face was painfully easy to read, the relief and thrill there as evident as his jewel-bright eyes.

"Sure," he said, ducking through the doorway. "I'll go check that."

His feet pounded up the stairs, and they distantly heard the sound of his door slamming open, the scrape of his trunk as rummaged in it. The clock ticked loudly. Kreacher cleared his throat. Sirius took his refused tea cup and drank deeply.

Light taps on the stairs let them know that Harry was descending, and Regulus removed Sirius's silencing charm with a lazy wave of his hand.

"The Triwizard Tournament!" His brother continued as though they had never been interrupted. "I can not believe it. I wish I was going to be at Hogwarts this year."

"We will be," Remus pointed out apologetically.

Sirius opened and closed his mouth comically, the rapidly approaching end of summer seeming forgotten until this moment.

"Shit!"

Remus coughed pointedly.

"I have to get a job at Hogwarts too," Sirius said, starting to pace. "It's the only solution."

"What makes you think there's a job available?" Regulus said, settling comfortably into his armchair again. Kreacher snickered quietly.

"Well, I-"

"Or that Dumbledore would want you around to influence the students?" Remus pointed out gently.

"Well, that's just-" Sirius frowned. "I can take Barty's job!"

"Sirius," Regulus said. "They already think you had something to do with his death."

"And his job is very boring. Detail oriented," Remus said.

"And frankly, Sirius, you're not...qualified."

"Qualified!"

They all pretended they couldn't hear Harry's snort of amusement.

The sun lowered in the west, casting long shadows over Grimmauld Place. Harry emerged from under his cloak eventually, with a cheeky question about "something in one of the books in the library...the Triwizard Tournament?" Sirius was quick to produce several such books, and they spent the next few hours perusing them, laughing as they competed to find the most dangerous and grizzly tasks from a thousand years of tournaments. Kreacher kept them well-supplied with tea, and even Regulus smiled occasionally at particularly ridiculous examples of champion foolishness.

The letter had been filed away, next to the one from the morning announcing Barty Crouch's death. Looking at the five of them, one would never guess the racing thoughts and tangled worries hidden behind their laugher and jokes. But complications loomed, as they often did for Harry Potter and those around him, lurking just out of sight behind their momentary frivolity.


End file.
